


Behind A Wall

by aboutboys



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, Creepy harry, Edgy, First Meetings, Fluff, Inspired by The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Kissing, Louis-centric, M/M, Rough Sex, Sad, Sort of sexy, Stalker Harry, Top Harry, behind a wall, sort of cute, wallflower - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-13 01:18:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11174010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboutboys/pseuds/aboutboys
Summary: Harry stares at Louis a lot.Louis wants to know why.And Harry doesn't class himself as a stalker, but he should start to.-or the one where Harry notices Louis. observes him until it becomes uncomfortable for you to read. but hold still because this is the story of a relentless man that doesn't hold back from things he's so taken with. Harry is an estranged man but maybe you'd understand if you knew the smile of Louis Tomlinson.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to a friend of mine, Josh, who was taken by suicide earlier this year. My thoughts are with every human who feels forced towards suicide, like it is the only option they have left. Josh, you were a good kid. I will remember you.
> 
> warning: dependent on the success of this first chapter, i may or may not continue harry's story.
> 
> also, i am aware of how this prologue makes Harry out to be a weirdo, but bare with. he's an estranged sweetheart, he just needs someone to guide him. yano?
> 
> i treat my fictional characters as real, palpable people. while his physical appearance and name is one of a beloved idol, his character and substance is entirely mine. this isn't the harry styles you know, i want to make that clear. 
> 
> if i'm able to feel happy with the way this is told, i'll publish the other pieces when finished. 
> 
> i probably sound like a crazy fuck with a book stuck up my arse. i swear i'm not. you might have skipped this note, if not then i really hope you enjoy this and that you'll be patient with me. 
> 
> enjoy 
> 
> A

Prologue

 

 

Why am I at this shit cafe. With bald wrinkly men, sat grimacing at the sulky sun, their lips a tight line whilst they brood over life's injustices. A daily mail newspaper shielding his face, as if the iphone in his back pocket didn't exist. I never understood why people buy the newspaper when they can have it penniless and on their phone. Is it the same reason why some prefer to buy a physical book rather than download an e-book. I observe, but I don't understand. 

I sit with newly designed pound coin dancing between my fingers. I run my finger over its twelve edges, wondering why. My eyes are abruptly torn away from the coin when there's the chime of a bell, indicating a new customer. My eyes find it, the loud obnoxious laughter, the soft edges, the laughing eyes and the sharp curve of his lips. I take in the effort he made today and remember why I'm at this shit cafe.

The cafe feels smaller with you inside it, my chest tighter and my curls falling into my eyes as if to hide you from me.

I take my hair into a bun, I need to see him better. And he orders the same, a Yorkshire tea with two flat spoon fulls of sugar. His reddening hands cupping the tea as if it were the last plant life on earth. His face glowing, a warm and happy tilt of his lips forming after he takes a careful swig. He sits alone in a booth against the window, a few rows down from me. I watch him, his eyes fixated on the snowy drizzle of the world outside this cafe shop. His eyes flicker about the room, cerulean and tired. They land on me, like they sometimes do. I shift mine away, lifting my mug, I move out of the booth and towards the counter. His friend stands, waiting for his... whatever he ordered. I place the hollow mug on the counter, placing the sad shaped pound coin beside it. Plain tea for 99p.

Upon leaving the cafe, my coat buttoned up to my chin, I feel his stare melting me. I swiftly exit with a chime and make my way past the wide window. I share a glance over my shoulder, stopping in my tracks, his eyes frowning into mine. Does he know? He's then gently distracted by his butter skinned friend. His eyes taken from mine, I crunch through the abused ice carpet. It was prettier when it was unbroken. Like most things I suppose.

He hadn't noticed me, simply stared and wondered, why? I knew his eyes had grazed mine before, over a crowd at a nameless club. In a supermarket over the many lines at the checkout. Me buying Polaroid instax, artsy shading pencils and hair bobbles. Nabbing some tic-tacs at the checkout. You buying ready meals, lube, socks and a Childish Gambino CD. He doesn't see me enough to get suspicious. With that frown I'll have to find a new cafe for a week or two. A sad shame.

So the next time you see me, it's almost been a month later, I'm at a party I wasn't invited to. I have a boy, who's name begins with an 'R,' wrapped around me like a wrist watch. Said boys mouth is attached at my jaw, slobbering on my neck as if I were his brand new chew toy. I'm not looking at him, i'm holding his ass but I'm staring at you. You, as you move around the room, a swing in your hips and Cheshire's best grin tight on your lips. It's when I finally pretend to notice the leech on my neck, that I feel you staring me down. Your eyes cold and fervent. It's almost like you know, do you? Wouldn't that be an interesting plot twist. I find your eyes as I drag my tongue over the leeches neck. Your face lighting up like a Christmas ornament, you shuffle away into the cramped cesspit and I don't see you again that night. I dispose of the leech as soon as I find a safe couch the rest him on.

I exit into the harsh bitter night, coming up with better ways to meet you. And maybe we'll share a word about the weather, or maybe your curious gaze will be scorned by my punctual one. Who knows when it comes to Louis Tomlinson, I suppose only he does. 

 


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while.
> 
> These chapters take longer than the ones on my new piece, 'Games.'   
> That on will be updated a whole lot more regularly.
> 
> Enjoy,
> 
> A

 When the dead remnants of my tea touch my lips, I find my eyes wandering to the woman behind you.  Her oval face glowing red from underneath her thick woollen scarf, her lips identical to yours. Your angelic cheekbones carved from hers, and her thick blanket of hair surrounding her face like an ambient halo. Her lilted laughter that follows your unhappy groan of defiance, they don’t have any scones, fresh out.  You stand so close to her, as if when you leave her side she’d cave like a sand castle. Or a snow castle, given this weather that’s the only thing she can be. You surround her like a moth to a flame.

 

You cradle your cup as if it were an injured baby fawn, reddening hands taking hasty sips this time. Not caring about the temporary scolding at the back of your throat, welcoming it instead of resenting it. Ordering something that she orders whenever she comes here, and I don't know the name of it but you don't like it's gritty taste. The lady puts down her mug and moves into the booth you gestured to. Your eyes light up like the first time you light up a Christmas tree. So bright, so pure and the sparkle in your eyes returns. And I watch like I always do, In the same worn wooden chair as I always do. I walk behind him like I'm told to do, eyes attached to his every movement like they're supposed to do. This time is different, because we're nearing the end. I was told only a month ago that the woman sat in front of you wouldn't be. I'm sorry we never spoke about it, but we never spoke at all. I was told to stay away, not to mutter a word. To risk my life for yours every day of mine, without saying a thing. She had a needle and thread pulling my mouth shut, she was viciously sweet and condescending. Telling me I'm best not to intervene and just 'do,' what I was told to do. No, she wan't a horrible woman, far from one, she was just guilty of the power she had over your life and mine. Oh, what love can do to a man. That's coming from one that's never spoken a word to you, yet here she is bending me backwards for your protection. In all fairness, she used my awful state to better yours, I didn't quite mind it. She'd only go and find someone that would do the same job. And I think she knows I'd carry it on after... everything, I know it's what she wants. It's what I want.

 

 

 -

 

 

It’s what happens after that isn’t it? That was the very last day I saw that flicker of life in your eyes, after that you were pretty much dead to me. When the woman from before disappeared without returning to the café. When you finally turned up after an entire year, sitting alone in the same booth by the window, me sitting in exactly the same spot as that day. And you were dead. As simple as that, you were a body, a shell, a corpse and something without substance. Where were you for that year? The colour had even drained from your eyes and the red puffy rings giving away why. Why you had spent countless nights at every nameless club in the vicinity. Why had I spent my time leering in the corner of the café, and hanging over different men at the tight fit ‘hole in the wall,’ club. I was watching, waiting for you to do anything. For you to turn around and ask for me to come back, to beg for me. And I would come running back. But it never happened and here you are, with the remnants of last night still running through your veins.

 

I watch as you stand up, weak in the knees, you hobble over and set your mug down next to mine. I’m still staring at your hands, thin, nimble and shaking. You’re so scared and I don’t blame you, she left you without a warning, and after that night I knew I wouldn’t see you for as long as a year. You cough to make me aware of your presence but I already knew, saw you coming from down the road on the leaf carpeted pathway. I had a new coffee come to my table in order to stay awake for when you shuffled in. If you find it creepy or endearing, it’s all the same to me. I continue staring into the bottom of my mug, the soggy corpse of a rich tea biscuit sat like mould staring back up at me.  I feel your eyes, as if they were intruding hands mauling and scratching at my skin. They’re intimate eyes, intimate hands but they’re the ones of a child that I’m supposed to protect from people like me. You don’t speak, instead you put your hand over mine, and it’s like boiled water, burning my skin like candle wax. I look up, your eyes are wet with tears, a sob on your dry lips, I lift my thumb and push a rolling tear away. Wishing I could do the same with the painful feelings you’re having. I can’t know you, but I want to. I want to be able to sit here, but the café’s about to close and my coffee’s gone cold. So I stand, my hand still sizzling underneath the heat of yours. I lean down, taking a moment to stare into your sad doe eyes, and whisper ‘I would.’ It's the first word you've ever here me mutter, and the last one.

 

Then I saunter past the chime of the café, the wind pulling me in the direction of an alleyway. I stand hidden in the alley, with clear view of the café door and how quickly you stumble out of it. Looking in all directions, coatless and without a breath. You stand there panting and pulling at your uncombed hair, a raged and exhausted look on your face. I’m sorry when you leave your coat in the booth of the café, you’re numb to the cold I suppose. I’m also sorry when I take your coat and follow you down the dimly lit street, right up until you reach the door of your apartment. Tiredly cracking the door open and slipping inside, the snowy prints the only reminder of you being there. I clutch the jacket, a faint smell of your cologne lacing the denim. The only reminder that you’re mine.

 

So I ended up keeping the coat. It’s been a month and I don’t know how to return it. Do I speak to you? No. Do I just leave it where I know you’ll find it, or is that too obvious?

I sit with a heavy bottle resting between my legs, the liquor burning in my veins as I thumb through the contacts on my phone. Passing your name twice in the process, I select your name and find it dialling you. My head a messy cloud, a stack of important sheets, scattered and carelessly strewn like party cups on your mother’s lawn.

My nerves deflate as I recognise the dialling tone, the line goes quiet for a few beats. 

Then, "Harry?"

 

 And my heart is humming, hammering and banging on the bones of my rib-cage. I didn't know I'd been holding in a long breath until now.

"Meet me, I want to tell you why," I pause my voice flickering due to the shot of adrenaline I'm feeling. 

"To tell you why I've been doing this."

"Okay, I mean I think it's about time, Don't you?" And he's right, It's been a while since i first showed up in the small crevice of his head. Then I started popping up everywhere, he was scared until his mother fed him a few of her award winning lies. Ever since then he hasn't done so much as batted his fine eyes over to mine. Until that time in the club, when I almost fell out of character. 

"Yeah Lou-Louis," I haven't stuttered since Year 7.

The line goes dead and i'm left tracing the seams of my skin, pulling at the inked pieces of flesh. I wondered how she would feel, if she'd be unhappy with my move. It's all messed up but he needs to understand how much of a disaster this really is. Not just some bullshit excuse from someone he'll never see again. he needs to know.


End file.
